He had not remembered her as looking so small. . ’ She bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. "However, some one must look after the jail; and they're all gone but me. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To wash away his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had set about. "Let me go," cried Winifred. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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