Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been.
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