The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. I’ve tried to use my authority. Besides, it is all reversed now, you know. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. I thought every one had heard about it.
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