The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. After all, that was life. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. So now I will say nothing more to you, and you will please to say nothing more to me, for I do not reply. \" \"Um, liar liar pants on fire. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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