She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. Do not disquiet yourself.
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