" "Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. She approached Ruth with open arms; and something in the way the child came into that kindly embrace hurt the older woman to the point of tears.
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