" "I wish you did have some faults, Ruth. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. It is impossible. I may as well think. " "My boots! Fire and fury! They won't fit you; they are too large. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. " "You will never become that, Ruth. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. He sat down.
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