He smiled tenderly. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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