When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. ‘Do not tell me he has escaped. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. A white man takes his life in his hands.
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