These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said.
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