It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “I do not think that he is quite dead. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow. Mr. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. “You need a reason. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. ” “For richer or poorer. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia.
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