There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. ” Ann Veronica could have wept with vexation. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. “Well?” she said.
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