Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. "Only, what you have done is out of all human calculation. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. We came on here at once. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape. . . ’ ‘Pah! One little kiss, voilá tout.
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