\"Thanks. CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. Await me in the coach. “No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. “It’s his birthday. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. I love you—unendurably. ” They hesitated. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ‘Move, you. . ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door.
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