Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. It isn’t illusions—for us. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica.
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