I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady.
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