" 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. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. “Who?” She asked. They would be partners only in loneliness. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. Norris.
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