Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. " "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. “Girls. Forgive me.
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