As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. I really cared for him a little, but I am absolutely determined not to marry for some time at any rate.
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