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So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. “I dare not,” she answered. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick.
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