Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the window. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father. “Well, I don’t want you to talk to him,” he said, very firmly. He felt the first sting of the whip. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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