Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound.
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