Recovery impossible. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. She felt him sometimes at night as he called to her in her dreams. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted.
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