Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. "Thank you," she said, and left the office.
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