. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. His eyes were bright with the hunt. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. Some day I may forgive you; but not now.
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