“You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. ‘And why have you not arrested him? Do not tell me you have allowed him to escape you. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. ” Anna was a little puzzled, but she only laughed. And she was as shrewd as they come. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that.
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