It gave him plenty of time to obsess over his random crushes, which worried her. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. It’s a beautiful plant, but a tender one. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed.
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