” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. None presented themselves to save him from that return. She went into premature labor. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good.
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