He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate.
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