“If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. “I do mean that,” she declared. Piano wire, stained with black rust from the horrible deeds she had committed. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded.
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