Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. "And, now,—to Newgate. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg. It was as if he could smell it on her.
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