But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally. She was powerless to move from her chair. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. Death belongs to God, young man.
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