"You hear that," cried Mrs. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. "Have you broken out of the cage, Jack?" "Something like it," replied the lad carelessly. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. “Who can tell?” she said.
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