" 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. She had killed him. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. "Read that. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch.
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