At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. I still get sinus infections with fever all the time, she says it has been that way since I was a baby. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. He was staring at her, openly gaping. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage.
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