" "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. A true nun.
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