A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. .
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