It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. "His shin may need rubbing. Once before—but that had been different. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. It had been easy to steal. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Our heads swim with the thought of being together.
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