McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. She appeared to be considering. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. Ruth loved him. If not, keep up your spirits.
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