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It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. We are not animals. I wonder. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. It was at breakfast on this day that he told Ruth he had sent to Batavia for some dresses. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value.
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