It would be the culmination of her plan. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. "I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. " The Wastrel advanced. “No one has a better right than I to be with you.
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