“You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. ’ A grimace crossed her face. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. “I know. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. "Will he live?" asked Ruth.
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