Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. And look down, so. “But I am your husband,” he said. . But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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