‘Open the door, fool!’ Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. If he had eaten food, this wouldn't have happened.
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