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Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. ‘It is not possible. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. ‘Aye, that she was. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. And I have wanted to so very much. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead.
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