It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She fled. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. The car ride to the new movie theater, a multiplex, was brief and harrowing. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself.
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