"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own.
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