Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. “I heard that she had chucked her show at the French places and gone in for a reform all round. His name is John. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. When Jeremiah admired the Compasses in the arms of the Carpenter's Company over the chimney-piece, or the portraits of the two eminent masters of the rule and plane, William Portington, and John Scott, Esquires, on either side of it, Solomon was lost in wonder. I've opened the case of books. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island. I’m off to England. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot.
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