She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. "I was just going," said Thames. ] CHAPTER VIII Slowly Ruth entered her own room. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. “I am sure of it. I expect Mr.
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