She would take this one back with her. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. " Ruth brushed her eyes with one hand and with the other signed for the spinster to stop. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE5MS4xMTEuMjQyIC0gMDMtMDYtMjAyNCAwODowNjozNyAtIDc0OTIwNzM1
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