Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. " "All right. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. " "Oh!" Ruth laughed softly.
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