“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked.
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