The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. “Oh good. Wild on his guard against an assassin. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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