“I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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