" 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. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. But machinery will never approach the hand. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out.
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