There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. It would hurt no one. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. As to Jack Sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE4OS4xODIuMjE0IC0gMjktMDYtMjAyNCAxNzoyMzoyNCAtIDI0NDc3NjMwMw==
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