If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. ” Anna shrugged her shoulders lightly. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling.
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