They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. No, never mind about thanking me. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature.
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