" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. ’ ‘Aha, you have found something out.
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