“I can assure you that it was quite unnecessary. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. 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. ’ Mrs Prudence Sindlesham, a widow of several years’ standing, so she told Gerald, was a scarecrow of a female, long and lank of limb in a figure that had once been willowy.
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