"Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back. It’s—it’s a social difference. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. ” He mumbled, driving on. . " "What made him buy that sing-song girl?" Regarding this, Ruth had ideas of her own, but she wanted the doctor's point of view. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it.
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