After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said. He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache.
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