“Women are mocked,” she said. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. 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. His fingers closed upon her hand. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. “It’s as broad as life,” said Mr.
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