Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. Through that she had to go. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again.
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