"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. . What are you going to tell me?" "Nothing.
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