She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. “It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours.
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