It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. To make Ruth pay for it! He wanted to get away, into some immense echoless tract where he could give vent to this wild laughter which tore at his vitals.
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