I spend many delightful hours thinking of the pleasant and beautiful things of life. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. Wu may have news for us. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. ” She side-stepped into his living room from behind a square white column. But he wrote on. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. He was perhaps forty-five years of age.
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