There was still the pity of understanding in Ruth's eyes. "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands.
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