"Quick. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. " "From Mr. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely.
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