Neither Charvill nor his heir know anything of your presence in England. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. He leaned forward to embrace her. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. And the hunter home from the hill.
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