He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. ” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers.
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