” He said. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. You should have more. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. " "We'll see that," replied Jonathan, dealing him another and more violent blow.
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