She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love. One would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer.
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