‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. "I'll gibbet the rascal. Now you're up, take this spike. ‘That’s my pet name.
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