I understand. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. She looked at him curiously. I don’t want you to be sad. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. ’ ‘That is what you think? Eh bien. Her parents left two weeks later, the weather still fine. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him.
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