"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. ” “I suppose not. “You, too,” he said abruptly. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and 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. “Don’t be childish, Annabel. I have said that I am but a nun now. The Idle Apprentice II. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. He resumed his listening.
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