So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; that is, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until he had quite a substantial array. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. “I can’t endure it,” she said. Kentish family. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution.
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