” He dropped his eye-glass with a clatter. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. She entered the last room, his bedroom.
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