” “Not exactly. "I'm going back for Ruth. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. "He will live," answered Ruth. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his.
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