” “Then I,” she said, “have too much character. " "Nonsense!" cried Wood; "while there's life there's hope. “For instance?” She smiled. "What is your name?" "Ruth. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She glanced into his face. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser.
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