It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. Just because she was sorry for that young fool! "Uh-huh," he repeated, rising and bowing as he passed Ruth's table.
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