The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. It ought not to be much.
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