I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. “I am sure of it. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. He handed Ruth a letter. It may be a long string, long enough if you like to tangle up all sorts of people; but there it is! If the paymaster pulls, home she must go. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. ” Presently, as if for comparison with her father’s letter, she got out Ramage’s check from the box that contained her papers.
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