Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. 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. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her.
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