The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. The weed was all right. ’ She shook her head sadly. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. ‘Not from the nuns, no. ’ Gerald eyed her. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. hopelessly, and it made me desperate. “I hope you’re satisfied.
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