She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. “You have not feeling enough. Monroe would lock the whole group of us in the basement, every day. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. ’ ‘Don’t count on it.
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