The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. I suppose most of our daughters would marry organ-grinders if they had a chance—at that age. Hearing the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the court, and arrived there just as Jack passed it. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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