‘And all to help me. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. 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. ” “Okay. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” he said, after an interval of self-examination. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards.
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