She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. So I've grown hard—outside. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry.
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