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She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. But one must disguise oneself. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. " And, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. I’ll try to stay as long as I can.
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