It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. “A little touchy this evening, aren’t we, Missy?” Michelle chided her friend. It was too good to be true. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp.
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