The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. “I think you are getting to understand me better. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. ’ ‘That’s easy. D. ” “I say, you know, you have some pluck.
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