" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. All that is jolly and as it should be. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life.
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