“I’ll go. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. 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. Pause. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way.
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