" "What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. \"You look nice, Lucy.
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