Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She had never seen so much food in her life as she saw at her own wedding feast. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. “Dear me!” he said. "I've been always true to you. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. ‘Come, cry a truce. “I knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards.
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