‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. 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. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. " "You will never become that, Ruth. How is it that everyone is aware of these things except me?\" She said. I speak no harm of her.
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