He flew to the window, and would have passed his sword through the thief-taker's body, if the latter had not quickly interposed the person of Mrs. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them.
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