Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils—Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. I think that I have become a drug drinker.
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