My very sentences stumble and give way. "I am twenty," said the girl. Her aunt had secretly sent on to Ann Veronica some new warm underclothing, a dozen pairs of stockings, and her last winter’s jacket, but the dear lady had overlooked those boots. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend.
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