" "What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s.
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