“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within.
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