‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Of course, this does not apply to uninteresting old maids," Prudence modified with a dry little smile.
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