Not these twenty year. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away. People were passing in the street below.
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