“She finds lying up so much very irksome. Nigel Ennison was he. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. . . At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. It slid off flimsily. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. "To Newgate," cried Jonathan, putting his head out of the window. ” “Well!” “He greeted me effusively. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. ” He cried traitorously.
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