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She had fallen asleep. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow.
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