And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. You disgust me. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. "Very well, Mr. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr.
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