” “It’s Shari’s work. F. Wood the carpenter. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. But I shan’t try to stop you. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief.
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