For the present the desire to fly was gone. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. To be ill and helpless. Winter came: rainy, damp, and savage. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight.
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