Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries.
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