Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. "I'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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