His glasses were gone. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there.
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