But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. ’ ‘You mean the one that you refused to feed?’ demanded Gerald, seizing this promising cue and adopting a mournful note. The cloth nearly touches the floor. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. Gerald tried it. He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely.
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