Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. She rode him gently. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny.
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