And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. " "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. But, if you've a spark of love for me, don't meddle with anything in that house.
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