Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ’ His features relaxed again and he grinned. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. ’ Her flesh crept. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch.
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