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“But—your people!” she gasped. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. His father spoke for him. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand.
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