An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. But he was always forcing her to say and do such unexpectedly conclusive things.
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