The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. He is here by your side. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. No, none at all. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose.
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