Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. “It does nothing but sit there. E. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. “That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task.
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