Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. I defy you to explain it away. "I'll have my cot in here," said Spurlock to Ruth, "where this table is. Don't feel fussed upon my account. "Your sympathy is being wasted. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony.
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