Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly.
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