. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. That was the only sound he heard. ” He stuttered. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. " "I'm sure I'm very sorry.
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