"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared.
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