"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. She wanted to think. I’m sorry. ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. Those were dreams. " The doctor had entered the room fully determined to tell the patient the major part of Ruth's story, to inspire him with proper respect and gratitude. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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