The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. Of course Ruth was not aware that in this same volume there were lyrics known the world over.
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