She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. " "Indeed!" exclaimed the knight, in astonishment. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. Now then.
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