Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. " He paused, and not without malice. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. Something in his tone pinched her heart. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. Coming from the gloom of the passage, even the corridors seemed sufficiently illuminated for them to see their way. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. He did not love Ruth. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. .
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