This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. ‘Here we go again. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs.
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