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I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. Enschede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema.
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