Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. "You read it, Ruth. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. You must think it over. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. The McCloskeys had only boys, two that were off in the Service and one that was full grown and had moved down South. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own.
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