The wards on the right were occupied by male patients, on the left by the female. And lunged once more. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ‘I knew you would be furious. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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