She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. "But it is much to me. "Where?" she cried. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. But it was of no avail. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. " Then he looked at Ruth. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt.
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