The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe. It generalized everything she put to it. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. Mrs. \" \"Wow. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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