He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. In these waters the shell has about given out. ‘Not here. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. 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 should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. The thought had not even occurred to him. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. It was eleven o'clock. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed.
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