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Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. "I shall want nothing more. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. 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. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe.
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