I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Ain't you, Jacky darling?" "Not quite, Poll," returned Mr. " "I'm sorry.
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