All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. —'How so?' says I. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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