" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. She was consumed by misery and hate. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. She cocked her head. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer.
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