At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. If the boy was legging it alone…. Probably a sick man's whim. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight.
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