I have given up painting. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. Her companion was a person of no inferior condition. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. They troubled no one, and as long as they did not noise themselves abroad and make a nuisance of themselves in this Protestant country, no one troubled them. Plays Beethoven, Rubenstein and all those chaps. She struggled fiercely not to give way. Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. She wanted to turn him. ” She implored him.
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