He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl.
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