“What can one say?” she exclaimed. ” She replied. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. The man was mad to marry me. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. “Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. You have set out to do something which is neither God's way nor man's. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then.
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