It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. You are to remain here until you are well. And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers.
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