“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin.
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