She didn’t choose her man. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. A shiver slid down inside her. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. The race began once more; but this time Ruth knew that there would be no escape. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. The impassivity of her features changed at last. “No, don’t interrupt me. . Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. She was by his side.
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