Her lips were dry and cracked. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. But I will never—never return. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. The perfume was the only one she ever used. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed. His absence was thought by the charitable to be from grief.
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