“You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Her confession was still unmade. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. "What is it?" "Can't you see? Together, down there; you and I!… As my wife! Both of us, never to be lonely again!… Will you marry me, Ruth?" As many a wiser woman had done, Ruth mistook thrilling eagerness for love. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields.
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