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. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. ’ ‘So that was it.
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