“I look older. " 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. Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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