‘The old man who lives here, idiot. You are just necessary to life for me. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. Ruth was something to study for future copy; she was almost unbelievable. Wood. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened.
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