"Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. "My worst fears are realized. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. As the novel grew Ruth was astonished to see herself enter and dominate it: sometimes as she actually was, with all her dreams reviewed—as if he had caught her talking in her sleep.
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