"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. "Mercy on us! Well, I thought their manners quite out o' the common. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. She stabbed him with her canines. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you.
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