On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. Meantime, the lady had overtaken them; but, terrified by the menaces of her vindictive kinsmen, she did not dare to reveal herself to her husband, of whose concealment on the roof of the very house the party were searching she was aware. That’s all about it. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open.
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