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The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired.

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