He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. “You don’t want to go?” “No. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Ah!" she screamed, with a sudden change of manner; and pointing to the window, which Jack had left open, and at which a dark figure was standing, "there is Jonathan Wild!" "Betrayed!" exclaimed Jack, glancing in the same direction. “Yes,” she said, very faintly.
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