She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. He grabbed her legs and threw the covers from the bed. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house.
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