She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension. He has a heart that is easily broken. Just an idea of mine. Yet she held her tongue. In the floor were set four ring-bolts, about nine feet apart. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling.
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