“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. He drew a little breath of relief. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. “I thought I was just up against Morningside Park and father, but it’s the whole order of things—the whole blessed order of things. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly.
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