A young man was playing the banjo. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. Wood could not avoid making a slight shuffling sound. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. She had been carrying them, he assumed, but then again the school had some particularly talented kids among the usual ruffians. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it.
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