His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. "Owen, Owen," pursued Mrs. They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. gutenberg.
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