“But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. Though it’s very kind of you. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door.
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