It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. "'Faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. He had not thought to find a lady so ready of humour and willing to give him a hearing. He was not able to recognize, as the doctor did, that she was only a natural woman.
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