D. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. Attempts were made upon the door of the Lodge; but it was too strong to be forced.
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