With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. “I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home. ” He walked from his door frame to stand nearer to her. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Not for me. Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud.
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