They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. ” “That’s the comfort of you. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not at all sympathique. ” “And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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