He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. “No. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited.
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