So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. She opened the door with a neon colored key. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. "You poor child!" Prudence took Ruth's hands in her own.
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