The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. She was rash and ignorant, absolutely inexperienced. She glanced into his face. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. ’ Roding’s voice changed. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. So was I, in fact. His literary instincts were reviving. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color.
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