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. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. Miss Miniver looked out on the world through large emotional blue eyes that were further magnified by the glasses she wore, and her nose was pinched and pink, and her mouth was whimsically petulant. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry.
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