Come and have lunch with me. The lady had disappeared. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil.
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