She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. If Ray left the house, it would be easy. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. Twice we hired caterers. 1. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation.
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