Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. "The poor young man!" she said. But I’m going to-day. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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