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There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. I told her it was the end.
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