Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. " Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft, convinced that he was going to have something far more interesting than books to read. ‘Ah, the tragedy. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day.
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