“To tell you the truth though, I am quite a stranger in London, and it occurred to me that Mr. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. I wonder if she has any idea how oddly beautiful she is?" Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement.
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