He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. Only she hadn’t. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Wood scarcely knew where he was.
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