You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. Ruth did not reply, but stared past the doctor, her eyes misty. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house.
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