She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. .
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