’ The lashes fluttered demurely. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “I had to. Her English was halting. As her belly swelled, so did he. She ran away after she had divined that Gianfrancesco had remarried. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask.
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