" 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. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations.
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