167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Mr. It was the grand nursery of vice. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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