It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. ‘Let her go. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. His figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature he did not exceed five feet four. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. like, well, um, you’re kind of looking just a little bit homely lately. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. ” “Do what?” “Oh!—anything.
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