“I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Old Newgate. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours. That is what I don't understand.
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