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Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. You're an angel of goodness. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. And think things out.
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