Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books.
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