For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. " "She? My God, the pity of it! She knows nothing of life. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. And he would express various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice.
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