"Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. I have healed and I am still your wife!\" She looked at him desperately, his eyes illuminated by firelight. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously.
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