Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. . It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck.
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