She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. I’m a soldier, you see. 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. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. “How do you feel?” she asked. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God.
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