Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. I made her my unwilling confederate. ” “Quite. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. ‘I have no idea.
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