Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.
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