Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob.
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