Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie.
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