‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. It worked. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated.
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