"That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. John picked it up and put it in her hands. Ruth came to him directly. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. The father was a madman. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. " "The very idea is dreadful," whimpered Edgeworth Bess.
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