‘I don’t know that I dare. I’M shaken. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. He would know her address to-morrow. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. She had eaten them. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. I don’t feel it.
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