She took up a book and threw it down again. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated. She had no intention of fighting fair. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly.
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