Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. ’ ‘Ah, that was an affair altogether different,’ she explained and fluttered her long lashes at him. Her anger died and she eyed him. “But I am your husband,” he said. Why should I peep at it through smoked glass to see things that don’t affect me?” He smiled his delight at his companion. So Ruth returned to her room and sorted the books and magazines the doctor had loaned her, inspected the titles and searched for pictures.
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