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She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. He hadn't played fair. “I was frightened then,” she declared. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones.
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