She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. But why didn't you let me know they were coming.
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