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Then he paused. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question.
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