That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. That is what I must do. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. The man was my husband.
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