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He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. He heard me; but he never came in to ask what was the matter. Sheppard. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. Even though I knew you’d no one else to care.
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