"Mistress!" said the apprentice, making a final appeal to Mrs. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Besides, I do not want a price on my head. Then he took the pulse. Mere hangers on. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. "She wouldn't let me go. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence.
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