E. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. " "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. " "Pshaw! you'd do as much for me any day, and think no more about it. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. Wood, popping her head through the window. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately. ’ ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love.
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