"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. " "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. "I'm going back for Ruth.
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