"Save me!—save me!" "Damnation!" vociferated Jonathan, savagely. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts.
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