Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 13-09-2024 18:41:01
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