Yet there was nothing for her to do. Everybody talking of you. She crushed the letter in her hand. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Rousing himself, he went to the door. These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace.
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