The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "But clear the room of this rabble, if you have sufficient authority over them. That would come later. Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect.
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