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It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. " "What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. "What's that you're saying about Jack Sheppard?" she cried. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered.
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