She delighted in frustrating him. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. He remembered it suddenly. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t.
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