That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. "Look at him!" Ruth looked.
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