So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. That is what my mother used to call me. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. ” “Pretty name.
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