He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. Surely he was imagining this picture. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "What has happened?" Ruth asked. When I drink blood, I.
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