She went into premature labor. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her.
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