"Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard.
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