Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica.
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