The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. He disappeared and she was finally convicted for past child abuse, but because she was diagnosed as schizophrenic they put her in a state mental ward instead of jail. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. His long struggle with himself, his avoidance of her were quite unnecessary. It is what I have done.
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