CHAPTER VII. Maggot, laughing. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. ’ ‘Remenham House,’ exclaimed Trodger, who had been watching this interchange open-mouthed. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. Sheppard's ward, Sir. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. His manner was deferential, even eager.
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