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Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. He saw the flames burst from the windows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed. Her father had determined on a new line. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. White?” she asked, laughing.
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