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Keep your eye upon the lad. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. “What is an Oracle, Sebastian?” “I’ve told you a dozen times. Your family has not sullied itself by dabbling in it, at least not 173 from what I know, so now is not the time to begin. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. He hesitated.
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