Send for Mr. ” Annabel rose slowly to her feet, walked to the door as though to see that it was shut, and came back with slow lagging footsteps. 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 drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. To think of him as loving her would make all that different.
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