And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. He used a most awful word! Then he said, ‘It’s Ann Veronica gone to join her sister!’ ‘Gone!’ I said. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest.
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