‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. ’ He frowned again.
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