"As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. "It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. For a few minutes all was silent. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them.
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