“He is a sad blunderer. I wanted the magic of love. You will survive, mark my words. Slipshod; follow me. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. ‘More nor that. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. ’ Colour suffused the man’s face. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars.
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