Ruth did not resent the use of her mind and body in this tale of adventure. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves.
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