You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. . Wood hadn't struck me. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth.
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