" 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. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. "I did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my health, Sir," he observed, displeased by Jonathan's allusion to the alteration in his appearance. His tone was kind and sympathetic. " "So do I," replied Ruth. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. "I don't know," she answered vaguely. ” He looked at her gravely. . That’s my point. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. " "You are very good to me, Hoddy. He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. ” “Of course,” his friend answered. ‘Certainly I am not a nun.
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