" 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. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. ‘You’re speaking the truth. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. I don't think. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. . " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him.
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