"Ruth?" he called. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. "Tomorrow I shall have a visitor. . I have given up painting. The fates are never so kind to me. I wonder if she has any idea how oddly beautiful she is?" Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid.
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