Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. A fever of shame ran through her being. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. We are not animals. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing.
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