Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser.
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