The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. "Will he live?" asked Ruth.
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