He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. I wanted to talk to you before when you first came to live here two years ago, but I never did. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. “Please don’t be sad. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
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