She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. “I am sorry that I have murdered you. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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