She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. "Yes. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. 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. Old Bedlam 291 IX.
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