She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. It depends upon what he was before he began this racket. "The feeling is dead within my breast. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
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