The man was my husband. He had made it even easier by walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. Yet there was nothing for her to do. "You open it, Ruth. The Reaper is not sated yet.
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