Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. Stanley coughed and faced toward the house. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time.
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