” She leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so. Very doubtful. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. He rose slowly and extended it. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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