Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. What was his problem, she thought to herself. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. ‘I thank you. I want to be very plain with you. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. ’ His colour deepened.
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