Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. " "'Sblood!" exclaimed Wild, uneasily. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. Too many. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. It's as strong, if not stronger, than this. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest.
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