I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. CHAPTER XVIII. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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