If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. She crept out of the shadows. What's all this about, anyhow? You. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches.
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