She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. \" She handed the ticket seller, a boy that looked to be all of eighteen years old, murder money that she had stolen from Dawn Plote's dead son, five dollars. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. Annabel had been here then. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. Afterward he stole out of the room with the bloodstained sheet to boast her virginity to his brothers and father, which only truly mattered because she was beautiful, her mother had said. But I'll not believe it of you.
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