"Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. You get the idea. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded.
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