One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. She hastened past. “I suppose my levity is incorrigible. It has been very humiliating. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room. I spoke a thought aloud. Both these ladies possessed considerable personal attractions.
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