” Mrs. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round.
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