It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. "I was afraid it would be so. Then, as she was in the act of turning reluctantly away, she noticed a thin crack between the door and the frame. Enchanted. “She has never 96 once contacted me. “Ever yours, “ANNABEL.
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