When he recovered his mental faculties, he would lie there, neutral; they could save him or let him die, as they pleased; and the doctor knew that he would wear himself out forcing his own will to live into this neutrality. He had heard this talk before. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. I'd have got something nice. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison.
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