He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. In a moment they were in the street outside. Answering him was agonizing. “Both. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. Upon which Mrs. I wonder if she has any idea how oddly beautiful she is?" Ruth at that precise moment was engaged by a relative wonder.
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