She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. Ruth returned to the table. Let us proceed with our tale. She put her mouth on him. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. Critically, she stared at her own features.
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