For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. “So is Mr. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. . "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment.
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