Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. He got up brusquely. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. But this chap is good wine yet. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck.
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