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The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. ” He leaned back for his soup. This was what he missed. " And Blueskin withdrew. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. . Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields.
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