" So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. Seconds went by, and the cannon fired just as Rhea descended upon Lucy. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. She had no place she loved. Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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