That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. “I wish you would not do it. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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