“It was very tiring. There was something indeed holding the whole species back from the imaginable largeness of life. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river.
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