"I am, Charcoal. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
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