And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. What was their surprise to find it vacant, and the prisoner gone! Jonathan, could scarcely believe his eyes. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer.
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