“What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work.
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