Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. E. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. It was at breakfast on this day that he told Ruth he had sent to Batavia for some dresses. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
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