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It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings.
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