Spurlock stepped into the room. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. “Okay, Mom.
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