‘That’s a loud one. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. 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.
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