It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. “Dear me!” he said. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous.
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