If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. . "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. " He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. “Where would you like to go? Are you hungry?” “No. She was keenly resolved to do well in the school examination, and not to be drowned in the seas of emotion that threatened to submerge her intellectual being.
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