“Dear John,” she whispered. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. ” “You must admit,” he declared, “that to us—who had seen you—the thought of your trying anything else was amazing. She didn’t know anything more about your mom. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. "Go on first with the light," he said.
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