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” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. Neither the American Express nor Cook's had received mail for Howard Taber; he was not on either list. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. He knocked at the door. I should like to have had you forgive me. How dreary it all looks.
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