He was no match for Brendon. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. "You are my prisoner. come. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room.
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