Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. She is the wife now of another man. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride.
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