A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. “I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. I would not think so of you, Marthe. She cried out with the pain of it.
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