“Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. "Some one must have assisted him. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. ” He rolled his eyes, trying 190 to conceal pride. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French.
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