” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. Thank you for walking me home the other day. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. It was true. 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. But his lips were honourlocked. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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