Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Nothing can alter my determination. Then he threw the letter at me.
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