"Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. He started toward the dog with the idea of ejecting him, but Ruth intervened. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears.
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