I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. He was really very bright and clever, with a sort of conversational boldness that was just within the limits of permissible daring. Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice.
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