It slipped out—as did that “she”. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. Simply. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. " "That is what I wanted to know," said Ruth gravely. What news. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. You sent back my Christmas checks.
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