It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “We have scarcely mentioned your name. “Very well,” said Ann Veronica, with an air of concluding the discussion. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night.
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