It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. . Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek. A wrathful God was watching him. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. I’m a soldier, you see. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend.
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