“Oh, please. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. As she learned more and more of his knowledge, she began to realize how much faith and trust he invested in her. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Don’t favour your father much, either, if it comes to that. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one.
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