Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. For a long time neither spoke again. Love is one thing and friendship quite another. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate.
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