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It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. ‘You cannot read my mind at all, monsieur. Book. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. ’ ‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment. " "Oh!" Ruth laughed softly. ” “The world has no sense of what is due to youth and courage.
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