They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. After that consolations fled. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Glorious! The Pastoral. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips.
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