I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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