She will not confide in me. . A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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