They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. "The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to put his threat into execution?" "What threat?" asked Jackson. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table. "My head fairly turns round. Oh, John.
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