When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. Most of the boys did not possess the manners that he did. F. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. She heard their feet and muffled voices. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. I love you. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay.
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