"Ruth?" Silence for a moment. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. I've engaged to watch over you as a son, and I will do so as far as I'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have I of benefitting you? On one point I've made up my mind—you shall either obey me, or leave me. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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