"Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. With this person—who was no other than Mr. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness.
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