There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. . Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None.
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