They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. Nice, of course. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. ‘I do not believe you. ” “NEVER!” Her heart sank at the change in his expression. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. “You must play for us again sometime. ‘Well?’ she said.
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