A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. “Well, well, Martin. Presently. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress. I'll keep a look out that nothing happens. I said I’d make shirts. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. .
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