"Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile.
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