Plote was sleeping or deaf. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. . ” “How dull you are,” the lady remarked. He walked unsteadily towards the door. That’s why it’s so important I should take my own line now. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. 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. To die intestate was unforgiveably irresponsible.
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