” “The real, identical other,” said Capes, and took and bit the tip of her little finger. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. Ruth could not be told now. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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