“Dinner is served, ma’am,” he announced to Mrs. Telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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