] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. My, um, my curfew. If we don’t live it will think we are afraid of it. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective.
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