"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. ” Mr. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. To reach it would be a most difficult undertaking. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies.
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