"Look at him!" Ruth looked. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. He was always visualizing the Hand whenever he let his gaze rest upon the horizon. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances.
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