" "What for?" demanded the turnkey. “Hello, John. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. He remembered that, before he attempted to dislodge the stone, he had placed the child in a cavity of the pier, which the granite mass had been intended to fill. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes.
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