But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. It was painful to want him so much. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. ” Lucy walked out of her bedroom door following Mike down the tiny hall.
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