" He did not reply. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. “I shot him. "My name is Ruth Enschede. You DO understand?” “Who cares for most people?” she said, not looking at him. Well, after all, he seemed to be turning the subject. She put back her hood in a determined way.
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