” She gazed at him. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. ” “But that is ridiculous!” he exclaimed.
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