Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. " "I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop. "I wonder," said Ruth. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned.
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