"Where is he?" he cried. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. C. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. They went down the great staircase of the building, and, while she sought in her mind for a beginning, he broke into appreciation of her simple dress and selfcongratulations upon their engagement.
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