“Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. " "Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; "count it. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. 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.
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