You had better go to bed. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. The will to live had returned. Every one looked at Anna.
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