It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. She indicated the captain who had retired behind the sofa. “We should get out of here. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. "We'll see," returned the thief-taker.
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