Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. Ray did not pace, he just stood. Don't lay it all to the boy. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. "What in the world is it?" he asked. Beauty has bloomed and faded. S.
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