He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny.
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