He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. ” She felt his heart warming the small room like a radiator. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. The customary gold band was missing; but a soft gold Chinese ring Spurlock had picked up in Singapore—the characters representing good luck and prosperity—was slipped over Ruth's third finger.
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