"Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. “I have not left this apartment myself. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. "No, no!" With a gesture, fierce and intolerant, she seized the Bible and thrust it out of sight, into the drawer.
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