Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family.
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