She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. Another labyrinth in hell!" A smile broke over the trader's face.
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