CHAPTER XIII. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. To her intense disappointment, she discovered that all papers had been removed from desks and cupboards. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. To have you is all important. " "I see," remarked Kneebone.
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