No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. “As I love you. He had no ideas about daughters. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. "Please hurry the ammonia;" and Ruth turned away abruptly. CHAPTER II.
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