” She put on a short dress that was sky blue, with thick straps about the shoulders. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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