And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. It could not go on much longer, her luck. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy.
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