Her father’s step quickened to a trot. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. His tone was rough, almost threatening. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. The Oriental has no equivalent. . Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked.
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