She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. There are also the letters which were scattered about Wild's room after the murder of Sir Rowland. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Terrific yells rent the air. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg.
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