Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. He seemed too noisy. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. Hang the wench! Roding was right.
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