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. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival. "You are my prisoner, Jack. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly.
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