Sheppard, fleeing from him to the farthest corner of the room. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. I had two slices. “I will be off,” she declared. She tried to think how people get work. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. .
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