But I'll never part with your irons. On the second day out he was helped to a steamer-chair on deck; on the third day, his arm across Ruth's shoulder, he walked from his chair to the foremast and back. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. Was he really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essential human touch to make it real. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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