But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. “You are absurd,” she declared. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly.
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