” Lucy reassured. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient.
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