She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. " This expression was old in Ruth's ears. "Choose, Jack. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. "There, Sir," she added, unlocking the door, "you can go in.
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