" "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. ” “I know. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head.
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