It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. We all have to kow-tow to that. “It really is not necessary. Sir John once more looked around him. If I offered you half of my possessions, you'd doubtless wallop me on the jaw. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. But I have two hundred thousand pounds. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. ” Her first upward glance was one of terrified apprehension.
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