He had bled everywhere, but she had struck when the opportunity was ripe. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am.
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