I've a question to ask him. ” “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” “It’s just as often a little refuge. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair.
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