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The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. ‘I must. “Vee,” she said, “come home. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. The job is easy. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. Late in July he finished the fourth story. He took some Oreos from the bottomless supply that stocked the cookie jar. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.

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