" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. "Promise me that. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. Tell me. "No such thing," rejoined Thames. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. While the strife raged between the principals, the watermen in the larger wherry were occupied in stemming the force of the torrent, and endeavouring to keep the boats, they had lashed together, stationary. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. Funk! I’ll see it out. .
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