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" "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. I went off to round up his wife. “Why not?” he exclaimed. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. . Her confession was still unmade. 6. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. "You want him?" "Please!" said Ruth. “It does nothing but sit there. CHAPTER I. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. " He patted her hand.
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