She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. Wood the best of wives. Get the pole out of your ass. In this state of knowledge you will be horribly, irrevocably, alone. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly.
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