She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. "You open it, Ruth. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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