He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. The doctor turned quickly and made for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was assured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of violence. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. "No matter.
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