Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. Ruth met him in the hall as he was following his family into the dining room. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. He's settling an account in the house. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. “It couldn’t be. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame.
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