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"Sometimes you say things that cause me to wonder why I don't hate you, Olga Obosky," cried Ruth under her breath. Olga laughed softly. "I repeat zat Golden Rule to myself every night and every morning, Ruthkin," said she, somewhat cryptically. Then they were silent. Conversation on the porch behind them lagged and finally ceased altogether.
I am going home." He picked up the sandals lying on the grass beside him and held them out to her. She coolly extended one of her feet. "It cannot bite you. Put zem on for me, your Excellency." He knelt and, slipping the sandals on one after the other, fastened the straps over her bare insteps. "So," she sighed. "Thank you. Good night, Ruthkin. No! I shall go home alone.
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