‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. "Show me your warrant!" said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "Ask him who he is?" suggested Thames. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours.
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