I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—all of them— Enschede, Ruth, and himself. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. "I am glad you think that," she replied. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously.
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