She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Every one took him for the millionaire, and he had lost his head about me. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. Ruth could not be told now. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. —'They have,' says he. It was the grand nursery of vice. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded.
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