There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. He still watched her and questioned her.
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