“Yes. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. Insulting cries became frequent and various, but for the most part she could not understand what was said. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. I could not love you else. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. Ruth loved him.
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