’ ‘But two letters,’ put in the woman. 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. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not.
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