“I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. ” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk. “Am I dull?” she said. Ruth was not a woman; she was a phenomenon. The young man looked at her. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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