He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. " "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check.
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