Of you, I mean. What is your father's business?" The question was an impertinence, but Ruth was not aware of that. Yon must be mine to-night. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. ’ ‘Bravo,’ applauded Lucilla, clapping her hands. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love.
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