It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. It is you who took my name, not I yours. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. “An Oracle is a predictor of the future. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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