The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told.
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