“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. Man, if you tell her you love her, and later they took you away to prison, who would sit at the prison gate until your term was up? Ruth.
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