Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. But here the resemblance stopped. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. Fell to sin, did Martha.
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