’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. . "Where?" she cried. I beg that you will consider me your friend. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions.
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