Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. “All right. He had, for the most part, been correct. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
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