" "For you!" exclaimed Jonathan; "don't flatter yourself that I'm thinking of you. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. She had but to choose. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Wood.
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