During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron.
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