Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. But I suppose as I’ll have to wait until you can hear me to tell you again. Too much blood has been shed already. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold.
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