Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question. She repeated this breathlessly. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen.
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