" "Peace!" retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. 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. Life waits for us. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. Myn Got! haanging runs in some families, Muntmeester. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk.
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