In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. The knowledge breathed into her heart a satisfying warmth. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. I believe I’m in love.
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