A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts.
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