There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. ’ ‘So did your business about marrying an Englishman seem to me,’ Gerald returned.
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