"Look at him!" Ruth looked. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered. " "If he had only been my father!—McClintock!" "God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat is like another.
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