Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. The clock struck half-past ten. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. His smile faded. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. " "And what might that be?" "Will McClintock take us both?" "You took that chance. The blood will rest on your head.
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