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She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. “Looks like old times here, I see. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. The gallows has groaned for him for years. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Their small talk continued.
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