“You remind me of a little blue stone I had once. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. At last she was roused.
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