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ToC Mrs. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in.
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