Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. To—to find myself. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. Presently he became filled with astonishment over the singular fact that Ruth was eluding him in fancy as well as in reality. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. “I am frightened now. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature.
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