‘Hilary, you must stop referring to mademoiselle as “she”. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. . I was always told my mother died the day I was born. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. "Look at him!" Ruth looked.
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