Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. She could not speak. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence.
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