“Did it seem like I was in pain to you?” She smirked. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. I don't think. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. But I am always afraid that he may get in while I am away.
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