All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. The Night-Cellar. It is quite a descent from the clouds, isn’t it?” “I will accept that,” Anna said, “as accounting for the surprise. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. I saw her face and it was the face that had been hidden from me in dreams, a face very much like yours, Lucia. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction.
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