Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest.
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