It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Ennison. ” She marked an hotel that seemed neither opulent nor odd in a little side street opening on the Embankment, made up her mind with an effort, and, returning by Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, took a cab to this chosen refuge with her two pieces of luggage. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. "Victoria; that's the hotel.
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