But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. “Why should it matter?” he said. ’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. “The rule’s all right, so long as there isn’t a case. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. On the orders of Mr Jarvis, that were. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. He’s a catch, Lucy. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes.
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