Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. He took Diane out. . “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. She held out her hand frankly. We don’t want things to happen. Rousing himself, he went to the door. Your life is like a funeral March. She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer.
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