He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. For that my father so stupide was in love with this Suzanne Valade, is it not?’ ‘Well, miss,’ temporised Mrs Ibstock, ‘we didn’t rightly know that then. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. Here are their letters. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk.
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