You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. "I am an officer in the execution of my duty. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. Without her, it was lonely. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. Run away now, please. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out.
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