By the side of her plate was a small key. The boat in which he rode was not overset. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. How little he knew about Ruth—the background from which she had sprung! He knew that her father was a missioner, that her mother was dead, that she had been born on this island, and that, at the time of his collapse, she had been on the way to an aunt in the States. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members.
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