She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. But we waste time. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms.
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