I can't see you unhappy like
this and not try to comfort you."
"You do help me," she murmured softly. Her eyes had now dropped to
the cushion at her side.
"Yes, but not--Oh, Ruth, don't you see how I love you! What
difference does this accident make--what difference does anything
make if we have each other?" He had his hand on hers now, and was
bending over, his eyes eager for some answer in her own. "I have
suffered so," he went on, "and I am so tired and so lonely without
you. When you wouldn't understand me that time when I came to you
after the tunnel blew up, I went about like one in a dream--and
then I determined to forget it all, and you, and everything--but
I couldn't, and I can't now. Maybe you won't listen--but please--"
Ruth withdrew her hand quickly and straightened her shoulders. The
mention of the tunnel and what followed had brought with it a rush
of memories that had caused her the bitterest tears of her life.
And then again what did he mean by "helping"?
"Jack," she said slowly, as if every word gave her pain, "listen
to me.
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