"Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. "Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. " When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces of the culprits, he laughed brokenly. Cut it as short as you can. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. One day a pall of blackness encompassed the sick mind of the giant; and when he came to his senses, they properly functioned: and he saw his wife by his bedside! An astonishing idea entered Ruth's head one day—when the novel was complete in the rough—an astonishing idea because it had not developed long ago. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. ‘And all to help me. Give me but leave to try.
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