Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. ‘Must be another of her lies. The fire still burned brightly. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host.
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