” She shook her head. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. ” “Of course not,” said Ramage, as one who rouses himself from deep preoccupations And he began to question her in a business-like way upon the steps she had taken and the inquiries she had made. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. " "Jack!" cried Thames, in indignant surprise. .
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