Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. He could lose himself for hours at a time. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. He cherished her.
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