"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. "As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude. He's coming. The man was dangerous. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She looked at the suitcase sadly and stashed it underneath her bed. Only she sent me a message, and together we found a cottage for her to stay at. works. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery.
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