"Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. Courtlaw. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat.
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