"You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. " "Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood.
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