. ’ The lady shook her head, contriving at the same moment to utter a breathy little laugh. It’s—it’s a social difference. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here. Prudence shook her head. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room.
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