T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. I hate this part of the world. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. It did not seem quite fair. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
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