The afternoon had passed now into twilight. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. " "I'll tell you what. She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. A radiant smile astonished him. They WERE weird. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had ever encountered. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners.
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