The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. And yet, Spurlock was afraid of the doctor; so was Ruth. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair.
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