‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. A strange betrothal!—the primal idea of which was escape! The girl, intent upon abrogating for ever all legal rights of the father in the daughter, of rendering innocuous the thing she had now named the Terror: the boy, seeking selfcrucifixion in expiation of his transgression, changing a peccadillo into damnation! It was easy for Ruth to surrender to the idea, for she believed she was loved; and in gratitude it was already her determination to give this boy her heart's blood, drop by drop, if he wanted it. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. “I don’t think she will,” she said. Anna, you shall not go. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. If only we work together.
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