It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. E. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves.
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