The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. “You’re. " "Be pacified, sweet soul," said Wood, looking meaningly at Thames; "you shall go, and I will accompany you. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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