“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it.
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