Contests were held every year, the type of which depended on her caprice. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. Once more he begged; but as Ruth only repeated her sharp command, he spun about and raced toward the jungle. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright.
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