The real Ruth was as completely hidden as though she stood behind the walls of Agra Fort. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. Hill was seated. “I feared we might have a fog. Trees were torn up by the roots; many houses were levelled to the ground; others were unroofed; the leads on the churches were ripped off, and "shrivelled up like scrolls of parchment. The poor fellow's half smothered. For a time I must do journalism and work hard. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying.
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