"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. The moment my escape is known, a large reward will be placed on my head. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up.
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