It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited.
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