Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. He has no imagination, no real generosity.
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