All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. “Gross. She felt much better. . She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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