She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. “Uh, I think I might, Shari. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse.
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