’ ‘So that was it. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. And then: “Of course! Always. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. Maybe others that I do not know about. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. .
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