I burned it. See paragraph 1. “Dear husband,” she murmured. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. Do you mind talking to some one else. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. ’ ‘You see? Not to be trusted,’ Hilary uttered disgustedly.
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