We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. The ruffian's companions took his part. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. Prison was beastly. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's.
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