And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. "Right to a farthing. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. .
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