"Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. He brought into service all his Oriental bar-room tricks. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. She felt sickeningly empty. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times.
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