But, if you have come to surrender yourself to justice, it is well. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared.
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