Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. “I am in love with you. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. " All day long the phrase interpolated her thoughts.
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