An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. They concern us all. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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