Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. White would not approve of callers. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. The young man looked at her. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. I’m sorry. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. See paragraph 1.
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