Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. He handed Ruth a letter. We men are like children. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. But the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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