But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement.
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