"Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. "Hope to. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. ” He seemed to be elaborating ideas as he talked. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully.
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