“You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. Ruth loved him.
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