He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. Sheila plucked it out of Lucy’s hamper with some of Lucy’s panties and brassieres, figuring that she’d help out because she was doing a load of whites anyway. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. But she was not sure just how to reach it. ‘Mademoiselle. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. She was no longer a confederate in that.
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