"By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. Good night!" She pressed his hand and went out. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father.
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