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"Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. The poor boy, wanting his empty coat! The incident, however, caused her to review the recent events. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. 1. "Yes, your son, Madam. " CHAPTER VI. "What's become of Ruth?" "Gone to her room.
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