"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. ‘That will be very helpful to me. 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. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way.
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