On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Her lips parted, but no words came. Come, make yourself scarce. He was suddenly calm. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. ” “My Mom complains that she’s tired all the time.
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