“Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would have trampled upon them long ago. We men are like children. Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. He had forgiven everybody. You may well say it's impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I must say. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration.
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