"Ruth?" he called. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. . Peste, she had forgot the sword. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. Tell him the truth, Annabel. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. , like to forget all about it—even their names.
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