“Mr. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. Ruth went on to explain. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down.
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