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Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. There were no mourners. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. Melusine circled her adversary only far enough to give herself the aisle between the pews behind. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Smith, placing his hand on his breast.
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