"You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. "I should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. A fortnight passed, then a month. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her.
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