Lucy slipped upstairs silently. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. " "Ah, Jack," said Wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. Love … to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then to add to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was a thief! For himself he did not care; God could continue to grind and pulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had already wrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. She's my mealticket.
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