" "Confusion!" thundered Wild. "Give it me," returned the carpenter; "all's safe. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. "And I want to thank you, too," supplemented Ruth.
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