The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. He's on the ragged edge. His hesitation was visible, and Spurlock took advantage of this to run to Ruth. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Always the other things remained. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse.
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