His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. That’s all about it. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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