CHAPTER XXI. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence.
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