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The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether.
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