So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. “I am sure of it. “Take Jacomo for a lover, Lucia. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years.
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