In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. . She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly.
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