If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Me, I have a question for you first. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage.
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