"You are my prisoner, Jack. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained.
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