“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery.
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