123 It didn’t take long. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. The challenge gave her courage. They are not your flowers. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear.
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