Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. Know that, don’t you?’ ‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you. Always. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. “Looks like old times here, I see. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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