"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. It is so ridiculous.
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