"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. This will be safer than cutting his throat on shore. He loved you. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. Lucy's ears were singing. Just as they reached the end of the passage, they heard the voices of Jonathan and the Jew in Thames's late place of confinement. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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