He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. Only you good ones— shirk. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. "You poor child!" said Prudence.
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