"You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. But I'll never part with your irons. I mean my cut-offs and boots. "Blueskin's a friend in need," he said. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. "Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly.
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