The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. You have all the earmarks of a fugitive from justice. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again.
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