I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. She was trembling a little. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. He handed Ruth a letter. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side.
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