“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. The two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and Jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment.
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