It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat.
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