Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. "I hope not. ’ ‘On the contrary. . Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. “I murder people, John. you walking home?\" 3 She paused, stunned. I would have heard her. .
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