" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. "I disbelieve the whole story you have told me. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. " "Hadn't you better hold a moment's parley with the gentlemen before proceeding to extremities?" suggested Jonathan.
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