He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. She felt flattered. "I have had Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. "Promise me that. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found.
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