Her mother…. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ” The corners of her lips rose along with her eyebrows.
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