After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. " "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority.
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