Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. . .
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