For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. "What's that?" asked Wild. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said.
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