“Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. ‘You’ll make shadows. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. Father— dead. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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