What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. .
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