There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. " She rose. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign.
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