Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. All the talk in the world would not describe Ruth. At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. I—I hurt myself.
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