‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal and literary. Anna failed in her painting, our money was gone, and she was forced to earn her own living. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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