And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. But it’s very beastly. “You don’t want to go?” “No. I had no idea she could go so fast. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French. Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. ” She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark red carnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which the card was still attached. ‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known. I've engaged to watch over you as a son, and I will do so as far as I'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have I of benefitting you? On one point I've made up my mind—you shall either obey me, or leave me. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination.
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