She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. " "I'll have no explanations whatever," replied the carpenter, disdainfully, "except before a magistrate. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words.
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