Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would
always keep hidden from her, at least human love. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't
yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!"
CHAPTER VII. . "No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. It was in another world from that in which men will die for
a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance,
the world of passionately beautiful things. And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been
plunged in total darkness. She
arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. She had been built
for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at
eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these
unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and
threatened to ruin her temper. She held out her arms to him and smiled.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 06-07-2024 05:19:06