Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. But, be like a son to her. ’ A question leapt into Everett’s head and he recalled the letter to the Abbess. Mere formality. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. . A shudder rippled across his shoulders.
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