The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. "You know not what you do. "Back!" he cried fiercely. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. She had behaved in every way perfectly. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. .
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