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Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Go for it. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own. " "Funny, about that coat. But I want to know what you are doing. No one will ever love you as I love you now. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. But they were all pretty nearly of the same length, and built somewhat after the model of a boat, having extremities as sharp and pointed as the keel of a canoe.
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