The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. Langley, I appeal to you. That was life. " "And you my warning," retorted Wild. If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it.
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