At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. org/license). It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. His literary instincts began to stir. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand.
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