She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. “Anyway, enough about that. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day.
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