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“You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. “I cannot keep silence any longer.
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