"Ali Baba, in a blue-serge coat!… God-forsaken fool!" CHAPTER XIII One day Ruth caught the patient's eyes following her about; but there was no question in the gaze, no interest; so she pretended not to notice. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. Nor can we. “You are absurd,” she declared. .
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