She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. There were two. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion.
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