" 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. Ruth shivered; she was cold. I'll keep it for your sake. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Vorsack. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. It would have given me intense satisfaction to have been able to catch a French spy.
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