She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ’ ‘Do not make a game with me,’ she interrupted, gripping her underlip firmly between her teeth to stop the threatening laughter. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. It is to take place to-night. He could not kiss Ruth because the acquired conscience—struggling on its way to limbo—made the idea repellant. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue.
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