Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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