Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. The Jew swallowed it at a draught. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. Montague Hill.
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