He handed Ruth a letter. ‘And so?’ she asked. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. You are nothing of the sort. The doctor's smile is singular; there is no other smile that reaches the same level. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.
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