She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. I have been around them for long enough. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape.
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