"Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. While you live in my house you must follow my ideas. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. We two. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp.
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