Their faces had bite marks that were hers. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. 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. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. “Too greasy for me.
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