"I have killed her," cried Jack. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. And when they got to Covent Garden Ramage secured one of the little upper boxes, and they came into it as the overture began. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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