The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. In fine, to marry Ruth (if she would consent) as a punishment for what he had done! To whip his soul so long as he lived, but to let his body go free! To provide for her, to work and dream for her, to be tender and thoughtful and loyal, to shelter and guard her, to become accountable to God for her future. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked.
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