The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He is an awfully good sort— and now he has come to me to help him if I can. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU5LjEzNC4xOTAgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDEyOjE2OjMzIC0gNDgyNDkyNTc5
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