“I should like to speak to you for a few minutes,” he said to Anna, dropping his voice a little. He stopped before her suddenly. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. He looked no longer at his wife. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man.
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