" "Probably not. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She saw his face change, how he regretted. "Mutual concessions," she added. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe.
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