"Look at him!" Ruth looked. The tapstress was full of curiosity; but she appeared more easy than the others. She too had seen. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith.
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