He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. “Cheer up, Annabel. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth.
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