"He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. “Sure. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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