“Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself.
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