‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. I don’t want to bother you, of course. Montague Hill. What a contrast did the lovely scene she now gazed upon present to the squalid neighbourhood she had recently quitted! On all sides, expanded prospects of country the most exquisite and most varied.
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