She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Wood. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty. It’s so different from what one has been led to expect. “All the time he is shouting and muttering. “Which one?” “The one whose life you have been making a burden, who has been all the time shielding her sister. Who are you going with?\" \"Nobody. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered.
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