It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. By various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached Gray's-Inn-lane. Beyond that everything was nebulous. Lord, but it was a nun! Just as he had suspected. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke.
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