Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. ‘But a week and some days,’ answered Valade. 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. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood.
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