The man was mad to marry me. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. “I—I shall be all right directly. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. "Because she's a fire-opal, and to the world at large they bring bad luck. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so.
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