The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. He turned back at once. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. ‘No, I do not go back. This is a mere boy. "What is he gone there for?" "With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied Wild, with a cunning smile. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore.
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