. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. A pig, yes, a little. He knew she had been weeping. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. Her hair was washed for her also.
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