Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. “But frankly, I mean to fight this through if I possibly can.
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