” Mr. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. ” He said cruelly as she gazed at him in fear. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. Somehow to-night—I don’t know.
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