“I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. She changed her mind that day, as her mother Marina had predicted.
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