Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. "One word before we part, adorable girl— only one," he continued, detaining her.
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