But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet.
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