Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. You don’t deserve it, but he does. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTcuMTM0LjIxNiAtIDE4LTA1LTIwMjQgMDc6NDM6MDQgLSAxNjI0MzUwMjE1
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