"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth.
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