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. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. " And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas. Lucy gestured to Michelle to follow her downstairs. The tables were then cleared. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. He became a little less en garde.
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