The fire still burned brightly. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "As like as life. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy.
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