” Mr. \" She was never hungry for human food. "She was mine before you ever saw her. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun.
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