If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. Death belongs to God, young man. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand.
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