She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come.
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